Kicking Ass
by FaaadedRainbow
Summary: Sammy and Casey are practicing their sparring together... things get a little heated


Sparring with him was exhilarating, but I'd never admit that to him. It wasn't just because of his skill, how fast he moved, the accuracy of his hits, but also because of _him_ – his dark, straight hair falling across his forehead, coal black eyes watching my every move like a cat watched a mouse that it had caught by the tail. A look composed of equal parts smug self-satisfaction and amusement. Casey brushed off his shoulders and shook out his shirt, sending a rain of rubble to the ground. He glared at me, his dark eyes pinning my gaze, accusation written all over his face. I could feel the blush coming on, so I looked away and brushed off my own shirt, which was dusted with a thin layer of nastiness. He couldn't have picked a worse place – the earth was dry and loose, stirred up by the slightest motion – and the dirt was _everywhere._ My left ankle was throbbing, shooting little spikes of pain up my calf every time I took a step. I sighed, but I didn't have the time or energy to expend in checking it out.

"That was a cheap shot, Sammy," Casey said bluntly.

I fought the momentary urge to cringe at the tone of his voice, and squared my shoulders, looking back up at him. He had a smudge of dirt across his right cheekbone, and it looked like war paint.

"You couldn't have picked a less filthy place to spar?" I spat in retaliation. "This is ridiculous. We already get dirty enough without your help. And don't pick on me or my methods of fighting. You're the one who screwed up my ankle, if you recall. What was I supposed to do, take it lying down?"

A gleam lit in his dark eyes, and a tiny almost-smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. I took a step backwards, my heart starting up a steady drumroll in my chest. I knew that look. But before I even had a chance to react, he was in front of me, his muscles tight with energy, and the breath left my lungs in a purling sound as my back hit the ground hard. He pinned my wrists above my head and cocked his own head to one side. Apparently taking it lying down was _exactly _what I was supposed to do. I squirmed under him, nervous, incredulous, and I opened my mouth to protest, but then he was kissing me, his tongue tracing my lower lip, and suddenly whatever witty argument I had pulled to the front of my brain was dissipating. In fact, there wasn't much going on in my brain right then except a garbled string of half-finished thoughts.

_Holy cow what the Casey is kissing I don't even know how to where did this come from – oh._

He pressed down closer, his lips against my ear.

"See, Sammy? You lost anyway." His voice was like black velvet, and I shivered. But I felt my face heat up with anger and embarrassment at the words themselves, and I bucked my hips upward to try and throw him off. All I did was succeed in grinding into him and alerting myself to the bulge in the front of his jeans. I froze. Sure, we'd kissed, but it had never gone any farther than that – we made out, sometimes cuddled when I was feeling different from my usual cactus-like self, but that was the extent of it.

"That had better be a rock in your pocket," I deadpanned.

"Nope," he replied flatly.

"The cell phone you don't own?" I pressed.

"Not." He never was one for words.

"A bomb?" I tried desperately.

"Sorry," he whispered, and before I knew it he was kissing me again, his mouth hot and insistent against my own as his hand slid up under my shirt, caressing my abdomen. He still had both my wrists locked in one of his bigger hands – this wasn't like what we usually did. This was different – he was hard, unquestionably aroused, and with an abrupt shock of hot, tingling feeling between my legs, I realized I was, too. And what was even more appalling to admit…was that I liked it. And, suddenly, my self-consciousness and my emotional constipation didn't matter anymore. This was Casey – _my _Casey –and all that existed was this moment, this pleasure. All that existed was him.

I arched my hips into him, moving into the kiss, hesitantly at first, but then with more confidence as my actions earned a soft moan from the back of Casey's throat. When he realized I wasn't going to try to escape anymore, he released my hands. I cupped his face in them, pulling back to brush over his jaw and cheek before meeting his mouth again; I couldn't resist him. His kiss was like a drug. There was no gentleness in him, and I didn't want any – years of sexual frustration were thrumming between us like live wires, drawing us close, and his quick touch and calloused fingers working swiftly over my skin was what we both needed.

Casey's fingers deftly undid the button on my jeans and I never even heard the zipper – all I knew was that they were off and out of the way. I reached for his belt and made quick work of his jeans, too – who the hell invented clothes, anyway? They were just getting in my way – and he rolled his hips against me again, and the sensation was _so _much different. I bit back a moan, reaching down to slide my panties off my hips, kicking them to the side. I was impatient and needy, and Casey slid his boxers down enough to free his erection, moving to position himself between my legs, his slim waist brushing against the sensitive skin of my thighs. He looked at me with a question in his eyes – like I said, he never was one for words – and almost before I had finished nodding he pushed into me roughly. There was a little pain, but not a big deal and a stretching sensation, a strange discomfort. Casey felt me tense and held still, his elbows braced on either side of me – there was a quiet moment where we locked eyes, marveled at each other – and then he began to move.

We fumbled at first, trying to find the right rhythm – one angle felt indescribably good; he moved a little and it was suddenly painful – but after a while we found it, and our lips met, stifling one another's pleasured moans. I felt the pressure building, and arched desperately against him – and the wave of my first-ever orgasm crashed over me, scrambling my senses and ripping a cry from my throat. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. A few hard, strong thrusts later, and I felt Casey tense above me, his head bowing forward as he grunted and emptied himself into me. He slumped to the side, pulling out of me as he moved, and for several minutes all that could be heard was the frenetic sound of our panting breaths. Finally, I spoke.

"What just happened?" My voice was riddled with disbelief. He chuckled in the way only Casey can.

"I'm pretty sure we just had amazing, mind-blowing sex." He said this very matter-of-factly.

I sat up, brushing my hair out of my eyes and scouting for my clothing. Casey, too, re-dressed, and then we turned to look at one another. His cheeks were flushed, and his breath still hadn't slowed all the way. He moved close to me, slid his arms around me.

"You know I love you." Casey's voice was almost too quiet to hear. I tucked my face against his neck.

"I love you, too, I guess," I said, a laugh in my voice. "But I don't love how absolutely disgusting we are right now. We both need showers."

"Well," he said, his voice amused and thoughtful, "since you're supposed to be saving the Earth and all that crap…why don't we conserve water and shower together?"

I rolled my eyes.


End file.
